The Choice

It occured to me as ii was reading through my poetry journal looking for a poem i wanted to post next, that this one i wrote almost a year ago now (April 3, 07) reminded me alot of the one Surviving posted yesterday, I guess we think alike

Kneeling on a bed of plastic
Bullets in an array before him
Trying to decide which to use
Dispite the apparent uniformity
Hours passed, mind clouded
Wanting this to end
Without causing pain
He knew there was a chance
All he would hear is "click"
If that is the case, he thought
I will pack up and live another day
Reaching for a golden bullet
He stopped and said a prayer
"Dear Lord, I dont want to live
I dont want to hurt
I cannot do this anymore
Please let me go lord
I need to be with you"
After saying these words
He loaded the gun
And raised it to his head
His heart suddenly racing
As his finger flexed
Pulling the trigger
But in the end,
Does it really matter?
In the end, did it have to happen?
It could have turned out for the better
But would anyone have listened?